


Player Two

by tonystarking



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Gen, cyborgbunny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 10:42:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10554982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tonystarking/pseuds/tonystarking
Summary: “Don’t worry,” she said, trying to soothe him. “I can fix it, but you should see Angela if you still have problems tomorrow.” At least he would be able to sleep tonight, even if her insomnia kept her from rest.She tightened the screw at the edge of the valve where it pulsed and disappeared into his neck. She checked it with a soft touch to check it was firm. “There,” she said, and pulled her tool away. But not her eyes. Her gaze gently drifted up his neck to his faceplate. She’d never worked so close to his face before. “Does that feel better…?” Her voice was heavy and quiet. He leaned into her hand.“Yes,” he whispered.---Genji needs help. Dva fixes him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Ever since I read the Overwatch: Uprising comic and saw Genji in his old Overwatch armor, I had this idea about his vulnerability that I couldn't get rid of.

“Oh, that was epic!” Dva giggled as the lifeless body of her healer character flew across the screen, shoved by an explosion blast from an attacking character on the opposing team. The game was over even as her respawn timer counted down--her team losing as the 5-man enemy team gathered and attacked their base--but she hadn’t expected much from solo queue and playing healer. She wasn’t used to that class; she normally played attacker.

Healing was a thankless job anyway.

A name on her third monitor caught her eye. Her stream channel was up, recording and simultaneously uploading her gameplay for the world to see. Beside the larger rectangle of her gameplay was a smaller square that showed her face in her recording booth, and to the right of that a list of users tuned into the stream. She had programmed her rig to alert her of emergency contacts trying to get ahold of her--namely those of her fellow Overwatch agents in case of a mission. But she hadn’t expected the username--bolded, shaded in green--to pop to the top of her stream channel.

_Genji?_

Not a phone call, not a text. He sometimes tuned into her streams, but this was late at night--or technically, early in the morning--some 2am game that Dva had chosen instead of rolling sleeplessly in her bed. Genji had never watched her play at this time.

She snatched up her phone, shot him a text out of frame from her webcam.

_What are you doing awake this late?_ she texted him.

For her stream, she plastered a friendly smile on her face as the game announced her team’s loss. “GG, guys! That’s it for the night!”

“Are you really Dva?” one of her fellow team members asked.

She chuckled. “Of course! Make sure you like and subscribe! Tomorrow I’ll be reviewing a mail haul, so make sure you tune in. Goodnight!”

“Hey could you--”

She disconnected before she heard the rest. She blew a kiss to her webcam and shut down her stream channel, paused her music playlist of punky K-pop that she softly played in the background of her streams. She had to wake her phone up to see Genji’s text; she had missed it at the exact moment it had come in.

_What are YOU doing awake this late?_ he asked.

#

The first time she had met Genji she had thought he was some sort of omnic, all gears and valves and robotic parts. Even when he spoke through his mask, she wondered if someone had programmed that voice, and if so, who. He was unlike anything she’d ever seen before, and that said something considering she worked for the Korean army as a mech pilot.

She didn’t talk to him much. It wasn’t that she hated omnics, even if her home had become a shattered wasteland because of the crisis; she just didn’t believe they had anything in common. But one day, lounging in the collective kitchen waiting for her microwavable meal to finish heating, he had caught her playing a handheld game, something she didn’t bother streaming but did talk about on her channel reviews. He took one look over her shoulder and said something she half-ignored as she focused on the pink plastic between her hands.

“What?” she asked.

“I said, you missed a collectible.”

Her back snapped straight. “Excuse me?” She sniffed, trying to reign in her initial disgust at being corrected.

He stepped closer to her and pointed back the way she had come. “If you return there… jump the fence, then go behind that bush… Yes. There is a puzzle piece there.”

“I--” She followed his instructions and, sure enough, found a puzzle piece. She would have had to come back for it later if she wanted to complete her collection, but it was nice not to miss the item now. “Oh… thanks.”

She paused the game and narrowed her eyes at the taller figure. Had he pulled up some walkthrough on his visor to help her out? Could he even do that? And if he could… why bother?

Was he trying to be her friend?

“Sorry,” he said, and turned away from her game screen. “I hate being watched, too.”

He headed for the exit of the kitchen, and she watched his toned back in the white and green armor. He had come to the kitchen, but hadn’t grabbed anything. Did he even eat or drink? Certainly he had to, if he was human enough…

Just as he reached the door, she asked, “Do you play?” She wasn’t sure what made her ask; maybe it had been the look in his dark eyes when he had apologized to her. Maybe it was repayment for letting her know about the collectible. Whatever it was, her stomach twisted into nervous knots as he turned and dipped his head.

“Yes,” he said. “I still find enjoyment in it.”

_Still_. It was that word that loosened the fist on her guts and clamped it around her heart. _Still_. As if there was a before and an after. _Still_. As if everything had changed, except that little piece of his life.

She didn’t know how to ask what she wanted to ask. Her throat was suddenly dry. His eyes were dark, except where the light directly hit them; there, they glowed an unearthly red, reflective like a cat’s.

“You should add me,” she said, and cleared her throat so her voice came stronger. “Then we can play together.”

#

She had her phone tucked into the waistband of her pink sleeping shorts; they didn’t have pockets, so she had to make due. She knocked on his door, three light raps, then dropped her hand to her side. She tried to be as quiet as she could. McCree slept just next door to Genji, and even if he was a heavy sleeper that snored throughout the night, the last thing she wanted to do was wake him. By the following morning, the whole base would know that _Hana Song had visited Genji in the middle of the night._

She snorted through her nose. Everyone would misinterpret the situation and blow it far out of proportion. No one would understand what it really was.

Genji’s door slid open, and he peered out, most of his armor discarded. At least, the parts that he could remove, revealing the scarred but muscled plane of his chest and the twisted flesh of his shoulder and left arm, interwoven with tubes that burrowed into muscle and bone. Many people would recoil at the sight, this stitching of skin and machinery, the hybrid of man and technology. But not her. Not now.

She had flinched the first time she had seen it; now she was accustomed to his body, even if he never removed his faceplate and instead only allowed her to glimpse his eyes. Very human eyes, dark as limitless pools that sometimes flashed in the light.

“Hey,” she said, and picked up the pink toolkit she had placed at her feet. “Brought the stuff.”

Even though she couldn’t see his mouth, she could tell he smiled by the curve of his eyes. “Thank you,” he said, and stepped back from the doorway for her to enter.

“After hours repairs cost extra,” she joked, winking at him as she slipped through the door and he closed it behind her.

He chuckled but said nothing. He was always nervous when asking her for help, even though they’d done this a dozen times or more by now. She was starting to lose count.

She rolled a desk chair close to his bed, gestured for him to sit down. He sat on the edge, his back straight, as if his spine couldn’t possibly curve with all the implants. No slouching for him, even as she curled up in the chair, crossed her legs, and looked him over, her posture atrocious. “So what’s wrong tonight?” she asked.

He tapped a tube on his chest, one that left the machine, right half of his chest and dug into the left part. Something that, most likely, dealt with his heart.

“You know I can’t do the human parts, right?” She met his eyes, but had to drop her gaze quickly. The intensity of his stare threatened to bring a flush to her cheeks. She had recently touched up her temporary tattoos, and while the freshly vibrant pink triangles would do well to hide the blush, nothing would completely get rid of it.

“You’ll have to go to Angela for that.” She said that not without a hint of jealousy. _Mercy, Mercy, Mercy_. She was all anyone in Overwatch talked about. The beautiful doctor who didn’t age, who had saved Genji’s life, who had put him in this hybrid body of his. Truthfully, Genji should have always gone into her care instead of coming to Dva for fixes, but he _cared_ too much for her to wake her in the middle of the night. At least, that’s what Hana thought. She was always awake and available and knew how to work tech since she had spent months fixing her mech battle after battle.

But who wouldn’t like Angela? Even Hana flushed when the doctor placed her stethoscope against her chest and listened to her heartbeat race.

“Not that,” Genji said, and pointed to the valve where it met the machine side of his chest. “It’s loose here. Causing pain.”

“Gotcha,” she said. She fell into cool analytical mode, her hand reaching for the valve and gently checking it. It wasn’t loose though. She found the clasp of metal that opened the mechanical part of his chest and prodded it open. Inside, engines whirred, but if she kept her eyes focused on that instead of the scarred flesh just to the right of where she worked, she felt like she were working on her gaming rig and nothing more.

She tightened a small screw just to be safe, but it seemed firm. She followed the tube up his chest to the muscled cords to his neck, where it connected to the mask he never removed in her presence. Her fingers tenderly traced the valve to where it connected at his neck, and he shivered against her hand.

“It’s loose here,” she said. “Your sensors might be a little off if you’re experiencing discomfort elsewhere.” She fought a laugh; this was not a laughing matter. _But listen! Now you sound like Mercy._

His breath came shallow as she leaned close to his neck.

“Don’t worry,” she said, trying to soothe him. “I can fix it, but you should see Angela if you still have problems tomorrow.” At least he would be able to sleep tonight, even if her insomnia kept her from rest.

She tightened the screw at the edge of the valve where it pulsed and disappeared into his neck. She checked it with a soft touch to check it was firm. “There,” she said, and pulled her tool away. But not her eyes. Her gaze gently drifted up his neck to his faceplate. She’d never worked so close to his face before. “Does that feel better…?” Her voice was heavy and quiet. He leaned into her hand.

“Yes,” he whispered.

She didn’t pull away. Her hand brushed up, up until it reached his faceplate. She ran fingertips over his metal chin, against his cheek.

“Yes,” he whispered again, his voice a deep rumble in his chest.

Her face burned. Her heart sped. He leaned towards her.

Was this really happening? She had thought about it a thousand times, but never had tried…

Her fingers clasped at the edge of his faceplate near his temple where metal met his beautiful black hair.

“No.” Genji pulled away, sharp and quick. She jerked her hand back to her chest as if struck. “No… you can’t.”

“I’m sorry,” she gasped quickly. “I shouldn’t have--I’m sorry--”

“My face--” Genji shook his head, dropped his eyes to the ground. “It’s not what it was--I’m not--”

She swallowed hard. Her curiosity had gotten the better of her. After they had become friends, tentatively gaming together at first, she had looked at his Overwatch file.

He had been--he _was_ \--beautiful. A young boy with a bright smile and dyed neon hair. Fashionable with modern style and sleek lines. Always with a new girl on his arm, popular with the women. But now--but _now_ \--

_I still find enjoyment in it_ , he had said.

_Still._

Did he still find enjoyment in touch? She longed to bridge that gap between mechanical and human, but he had pulled away and--

_Still._

“Dva…”

She _still_ thought he was beautiful.

“No. I should go. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.” She mumbled as she slid from the chair, gathered up her supplies, and rushed for the door.

“Hana--”

She froze at her name. She was breathing heavily, as if she had just run for miles. She felt as if she could; early as it was in the morning, she could run for days.

“Hana, I’m…” He stepped towards her--awkwardly, stumbling, not graceful as he usually was. His arms were open, half a shrug, half an invitation for a hug. She didn’t know what he wanted, but he stood over her, boxing her in, or ushering her out. “I’m not what I once was,” he said.

She hardened her eyes, because otherwise she feared she might cry. Anger was so much more accessible than sadness, and was easier to be rid of. “You’re not the only one with scars, Genji,” she snapped. _Only yours are on the outside where everyone can see._

She clenched her eyes closed, pushed back the moisture growing there. _Stupid Genji asking for help, he should have seen Angela--_

She didn’t like talking about her scars, couldn’t really--

“Hana.” He pressed his hands to both her shoulders, and his touch was warmer than she could have ever imagined. Even his right arm encased in metal matched the temperature of his flesh and blood hand.

_How…?_ And yet she wanted to collapse into his arms, to truly embrace him and feel the whole of him, warm and firm, against her body. But it was too much. He had pulled away from her, and she had been foolish enough to bring up her own scars.

She needed to go before he asked about them. Before he expected her to put herself on display as she expected him to.

“Hana, please,” he said, and she didn’t answer other than to meet his pleading eyes.

She wanted him; she had to admit that to herself. But neither of them could really be with the other when there was too much armor in the way.

He understood that. Now she did, too.

Quickly, flashing a smile that was the same fake one she wore on her gaming stream, she stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his faceplate. A quick kiss, a peck on what would be his lips, before she turned on her heel and marched away from him into the hallway, retreating from his touch.

“Goodnight, Genji,” she said.

The door closed between them before she could hear his reply.


End file.
